


Up or Down?

by EllieRose101



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-it, Episode: s04e11 Doomed, F/M, Season/Series 04, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieRose101/pseuds/EllieRose101
Summary: An earthquake, an elevator, some truth, and consequences.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Kudos: 54





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of the very end of ‘Doomed.’ Everything from canon happened as depicted in the show right up to the penultimate scene where Buffy goes to see Riley, and this is where I change things. In canon, Buffy has a miraculous change of heart towards Riley and they get together. The viewer never finds out why or how this happens, though Sigyn explains it wonderfully in a missing scene she wrote for the episode. Outside of Sig’s explanation, the change of heart doesn’t make sense. So here, instead of trying to address or explain it in a different way, I’m having it just not happen. You’ll see why.

Spike went down the hallway on the balls of his feet, relieved to have a bounce literally back in his step. The revelation that he could fight demons changed everything. He had purpose again. Something to do. No more uselessly sitting on the sidelines. The Slayer’s mates had failed to see how important it was, and clearly found no draw in going out to enact justice on the world, but Spike had a pretty good idea who would. The girl herself might not like him, or even be talking to him currently, but she’d understand. The need to fight and scrap and bloody well _do_ something was part of who she was. Neither of them were built to sit on their hands and watch the world go by.

He sighed, giving a brief thought to her hands. Wonderful, wicked hands that had come to occupy many of his musings since the whole mystical engagement bollocks.

Because that was the other thing.

While he’d been wallowing in his inability to hunt and feed, Spike had spent the rest of his time replaying scenes from that damned, blessed day. It had been a nightmare, it had been bliss, and his head was turned by it all. The experience had unlocked something, bringing back to the surface all of those dreams he’d had since first laying eyes on the Slayer. But the ‘something’ it unlocked – desire, longing, unrestrained _want_ – made the wallowing worse, because he knew he was less than nothing to her. 

At least before, as a foe, he'd had a place in her life. And being allies against Angelus had been grand, for the brief time it lasted, but they weren’t friends. Take away the fighting, and there had been nothing left but eye rolls and sarcasm. Enjoyable as that could be, it wasn’t enough. But now – _now!_ – he could fight again. He couldn't feed himself like a self-respecting vamp, but if the bloody electric leash meant he had the chance to be something more to Buffy than a thorn in her side, bring on the butcher counter!

All right, so maybe it was wishful thinking, looking on the bright side of his unfortunate situation, but what else could he do? Roll over and take the latest beating life had handed him? Not at least _try_ for what he wanted? Fuck no. Spike was many things, but a quitter wasn’t one of them. If he stood a chance, he tried, that’s just who he was. And this new revelation was just the chance he needed. Yes, he’d thought about ending things mere hours ago, but that was before this new path opened up. He wasn’t gonna waste it. No way he was staying in bloody Xander’s musty basement, watching TV with him and Red while the boy’s parents fought upstairs. Anything was better than that. And the possibility of spending time with Buffy? Best of all.

All this playing on his mind, Spike pressed the ‘up’ button and waited for the elevator doors to close. He’d planned to get out on her floor, saunter over to her door and take a moment to compose himself before striding on in, delivering his carefully prepared speech about wanting to fight the good fight. And, when she called his bluff, as she would undoubtedly do, he would shrug and admit he wanted to hit things. Then she’d sigh and get on with it, because she liked hitting things, too. Easy.

Except the lift doors opened and there she stood, looking radiant. Angry, too, but mostly radiant. 

Spike looked up and swallowed, all of his thoughts and plans and words swiftly vacating his head as his mouth went dry. Bugger it all.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy asked, crossing her arms.

He was halfway through stammering something – he barely knew what – when the doors began to close again. Both Buffy and Spike put a hand out to stop them, their fingers lightly grazing each other before she pulled back like she’d been scalded.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this.” She stepped in, holding her finger on the ‘down’ button, all the while glaring a hole right through his stupidly empty brain. “You can tell me on the way.” 

“Way to where?” Spike questioned. 

Buffy’s eyes flicked away. “I asked you first.”

“Right then.” He was still trying to remember any of his blasted speech when there was a ding and the doors finally closed – sealing them both in. The lift started the descent but didn’t get very far before the lights flickered once, twice, three times. Then the entire contraption shook and just as abruptly stopped again.

“What the hell?”

Dim emergency lighting flicked on and Spike watched as Buffy looked around as if assistance would fall out of the ceiling. When it didn’t materialise, she turned her glare back on him.

“Oh, come on!” He returned the glare best he could, but couldn’t be sure how convincing it was. Situation didn’t seem all that bad, to him. “You can’t possibly be thinking this is my fault.”

Buffy’s arms once again crossed in front of her pert tits. “Try me.”


	2. Hour One

It was all Buffy could do not to scream at the top of her lungs. She'd averted an apocalypse after dealing with Riley being an ass, plus Giles dismissing her concerns. Which turned out to be way valid! Now here she was, putting up with the fresh hell of being trapped in an elevator with Spike, and it wasn’t even nine p.m.. What could the rest of Tuesday possibly have in store for her?

She hit the elevator door with her fist, grunting at the dull pain it sent up her arm. It helped quell most of her immediate frustration, so she set about actually trying to resolve the situation, using her fingers to attempt prying the doors apart.

They didn’t give an inch.

She tried a different angle to no avail and felt her temper flare again. With much loathing, she said to Spike, “Wanna give me a hand?”

Silence greeted her.

Buffy turned around to see him sitting on the floor, his back flush with the wall and one leg up, bent at the knee. As if he had settled in for the long haul.

Her hands went to her hips. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Watching the show.”

 _Ugh._ “So you’re not gonna help?”

“It wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Help.”

She felt her eyebrows go up but was at a loss for what else to say. There were only so many times a person could ask ‘what?’ before it became as annoying to them as the idiot they were trying to get info out of.

Spike sighed. “Me trying the door wouldn’t help,” he clarified.

Buffy frowned. “Your incapacitation somehow affects metal, too?”

“ _No_ ,” he growled, starting to sound as irritated as she felt. “And I’ll thank you not to call it that. Can hit demons now. Have plenty of capacity, in that respect.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Why wouldn’t it help?”

Spike shrugged again. “You’re stronger than me, pet. You can’t get it? It can’t be got.”

 _Oh._ That was… kind of a compliment. “You’re almost as strong as me,” she pointed out, trying not to make _that_ sound like a compliment, because weird. “If we try it together, then–”

“The phone working?” asked Spike, cutting her off.

Huh? Buffy looked to her left and saw a little keypad set into the wall beside the usual buttons that had ‘Emergency’ written beside it and what looked like a speaker built in at the top. _Right. I totally knew that was there._

She tried the button with the bell icon, relieved to have finally caught a break, except nothing happened. Buffy pressed again, holding it for ten seconds before releasing.

Still nothing. _Goddamn it!_

“Now try the hatch,” said Spike.

“The–” She followed his eyes upwards, to where there was indeed a hatch in the ceiling. In just the same place it always was in movies, when action stars were trapped and had to make a great escape or whatever. Frustrated that she’d forgotten about all of those scenes until now, Buffy didn’t finish answering Spike, instead jumping up and trying to press the hatch open. Then trying to pull it down. Then just trying to punch it, because what the frick? To be completely sealed in with both the emergency phone down and escape hatch locked tight seemed both impossibly dangerous and not at all coincidental.

“As I thought,” said Spike conversationally. “Wouldn’t help.”

Again, she turned to glare at him. “What did you _do_?”

“Me?” He feigned a scandalized expression but was only able to hold it for a moment before a grin spread across his face. “I’m as innocent as a puppy at Christmas.”

Okay, that did it. The scream Buffy had barely repressed earlier burned high in her throat and then came out in a gush. She screamed and screamed, hoping there would be some kind of response, but when her lungs gave out, all she could hear was the smile in Spike’s voice as he asked, “Are you done now, pet?”

Just as she was about to kick him, he held up his hands and said, “Easy now! It’s just lockdown protocol, init?”

Buffy eyed him, her leg still poised to strike. “What are you talking about?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the threat her pointy shoe posed to his intimate areas or if he’d just gotten bored of being a super pain in the ass, but he actually did tell her.

“Remember when I went to visit Red?” he began. “Right after I got out of the labs, I took a little trip to your dorm and had a terribly disappointing chat with your little wicca pal. Then you came running, there were soldiers–” He waved a hand. “A whole ruckus.”

“They turned off the lights,” said Buffy, remembering. “You think they turned off the elevators, too?”

“Makes sense that they would,” said Spike. “Just while they’re sweeping the area for subterrestrials.” He said ‘subterrestrials’ with more scorn than Buffy had heard him talk about anything. Even Harmony.

“Okay,” she said, “but they’ve been working fine since then. I mean, that’s how you got up here today, right?”

“Right,” said Spike. “So they turned off the lockdown protocol bollocks when I got away and they had to clear out. Except there was that little matter of the earthquake that happened.”

Buffy’s heart leapt in her chest just at the mention of it. God, did she _hate_ earthquakes. “You think it knocked something off or–or out– or… something?”

“I think the aftershock that hit two seconds after you stepped in here did, yeah.”

“What?” She stared at him. “The lights flickering. That’s what that was? God! There was another earthquake and you’ve been sitting here all this time, wasting my time when–”

“Bloody hell!” Spike’s eyes had gone huge in response to her mouth running a mile a minute. “Ain’t nothing to get worked up over, love.”

“Ain’t– ain’t _nothing_?!” she stammered. “Didn’t you just–?” _Oh, god._ She couldn’t argue with him. She could barely breathe!

“Not another earthquake,” he affirmed, almost as if he was trying to calm her down. “Just an aftershock. They happen.”

She shook her head, unable to reply, and he carried on.

“Happen more here than at home,” he said. “Should have thought you’d be used to them.”

Of course, she knew he was right. She was a California girl and knew all about earthquakes and aftershocks, but that didn’t seem important now and she felt stupid for not remembering. Plus, she didn’t _want_ him to be right. “They’re bad,” she said. “Bad, bad, _bad_ omens. With the drowning and the apocalypse and–” She shuddered. “Badness.”

“Well, good job you’ve already dealt with today’s apocalypse, then. Omen null and bloody void.”

“But–”

“Was an aftershock,” Spike repeated, his voice firm. “Not so much an omen as the echo of one.”

Buffy blew out a breath. She began to pace the tiny amount of floor space Spike wasn’t taking up as she played his words over in her head. Finally, she decided to accept them. For the sake of her sanity, if nothing else. Plus, they made a kind of sense. And there was nothing she could do even if the aftershocks were a sign of something more.

“Here.” She looked down and saw Spike’s outstretched hand offering her an unmarked flask.

“Ew.”

“It’s bourbon, not blood.”

“ _Eww_ ,” she said again, drawing the word out for emphasis.

Spike sighed, taking a swig. “Suit yourself,” he said, putting it back in his pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter instead.

“What are you doing?”

He stopped and glared at her. “How many times are you gonna ask me that? Havin’ a smoke, what’s it look like?”

Buffy snatched the cigarette from his fingers before he could light it, then took the rest of the packet for good measure. “You can’t smoke in here. God, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong with _me_?” exclaimed Spike. “You’re in danger of wearing a hole in the bloody floor with your pacing about.” He looked contemplative for a moment. “Suppose it would be one way out of here. Keep it up.”

“You’re a jackass!”

“Yeah, an’ you’re a bitch. Doesn’t change anything. Give’us the smokes back.”

Buffy crumpled the packet in her fist, expecting Spike to blow up at her, which would at least be a real distraction, but instead he looked intently at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable.

"Look,” he said at last. “Know you’re wound up, but we don't know how long we'll be in here. Best conserve your energy, yeah?"

Her stomach sank. Partly because it sounded like he was trying to be nice again, which was mega unsettling, and partly because – _god!_ – he was right. They could be here for hours. Weeks. _Months!_ How long did the human body survive without food and water, anyway? She was pretty sure she’d known the answer to that, once, and even though the knowledge escaped her now, Buffy didn’t think it was more than a couple of days.

 _Fuck! I’m gonna die in here with Spike and then he’s gonna drain me dry._ The only thing she could take a tiny bit of solace in was that she’d just used the bathroom before stepping into the steel death-trap.

Buffy felt sick and was ready to start kicking the doors when something else flickered in her mind. Something much, much worse. "Oh my god, what if we can't get air?" That would definitely cut her survival down to hours instead of days, right?

"There's still air getting in, Slayer."

“Oh, what would you know!” she snapped.

“There’s no reason for it to be airtight,” he pointed out.

“Screw reason!” she snapped again.

He blinked at her, looking equally surprised and impressed. “Listen,” he said, using his infuriatingly reasonable voice again, “I’ll make you a deal. Promise to stop breathin’ in your precious air if you sit down. We could play a game.”

Buffy flung herself down, but only because her feet were starting to hurt – stupid pretty, impractical shoes! – and sitting probably used less air than pacing. “Stop talking,” she told Spike. “That’s the deal. You stop talking, I don’t slay you.”

He glared but didn’t reply. _Well, good,_ she thought to herself.

She pouted and looked all round, thinking if she’d initially missed the speaker phone thing and the hatch, there was maybe something else important that had escaped her attention, but other than used gum stuck to the ceiling and graffiti on the wall, nothing presented itself. Given that there wasn’t much to look at, let alone find, the inspection didn’t take very long. Soon, she was jittery again. 

Now that she was sitting down, the panic seemed to be giving way to boredom. “You never told me why you’re here,” she said to Spike.

He opened his mouth then hesitated a second.

Buffy rolled her eyes. He could be so childish. “You can speak.”

He snapped his mouth shut and waited a couple more seconds, something flickering in his eyes before he said, “Came for my ring.”

“Your ring?” Buffy’s thumb automatically reached across to run itself over the piece of metal around her index finger. She was never so glad she had long sleeves for concealment.

“Yeah,” said Spike. “Skull jewellery.”

“I know what it looks like.” She tried to fill her words with as much disdain as she could, just to throw him off the scent as she pulled the ring off and secreted it away in the tiny pocket of her tight jeans. “I had to wear it all day, remember?”

“I remember,” said Spike, his voice weirdly low. He shook his head and added more lightly, “It’s a piece of tat, but it’s mine. I want it.”

“Well,” said Buffy, raising her chin, “I don’t have it.”

He eyed her, looking very much like he hadn’t believed the lie, so she reached for the first thing she could think of to change the topic.

“What kind of game?”


	3. Hour Two

Spike had been feeling pretty smug about being able to mess with Buffy so easily, seamlessly guiding her back and forth between highly entertaining exasperation and not freaking the fuck out about being trapped with him.

He didn’t much appreciate it when she turned the tables on him.

“What about _Truth or Consequences_?” he’d suggested, and she’d shot him a quizzical look.

“The place in New Mexico?”

“No.”

“The movie?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not the movie, nor the radio show neither.”

“There was a radio show? About the movie?”

“Bloody hell. _No._ It’s a game, kind of like Forfeits.”

“Four-huh?”

He groaned. “Nevermind, Slayer. Forget I said anything.” Took all the fun out of driving her mad, she did.

Spike had offered Buffy his flask again, and she’d surprised him by taking it, but then disappointed him by just passing it between her hands for something to do rather than having a snifter. He sighed, resigned, and pulled out his backup one, taking a swig from that.

And now here they were, bickering about her abuses of the English language.

“Wait a sec,” she’d said after a long pause, the flask in her hands stilling as the cogs in her brain started whirring away. “Were you talking _Truth or Dare_ , before?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“No.”

“Well, yeah. Same difference.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you ever just say what you mean?”

“Me? What about you and–”

She held up a hand. “This is stupid.”

It was on the tip of Spike’s tongue to retort ‘ _You’re stupid_ ’ but he bit it back at the last second. She was having a terrible influence on his maturity level. “You got a better idea?” he asked instead.

Buffy glanced briefly at the ceiling. “Well, _I spy_ is out.”

He made a scoffing noise, even as his thoughts rabbited off in the direction of how he might use such a game for his purposes. _I spy a warrior I want to fight alongside; spy a woman I want back in my lap; spy a–_

“What else you got?” she asked then, snapping him out of his reverie.

“What?”

She made a vague gesture. “So far, I’ve seen two flasks, cigarettes, and a lighter. You got anything else in your coat?

Hmm. Wasn’t quite a game, but might occupy them for a smidge. “Let’s see.”

As he started patting himself down and pulling things out, Buffy lamented most female fashion being “way lacking in the pocket department.”

“Need yourself a bloke to carry shit, then,” said Spike and she scoffed but didn’t pick up the debate proper. “Okay.” _Might as well put a little commentary with it._ “Item number one: receipts.”

“You actually pay for stuff?” Buffy’s eyebrows went up. “Since when?”

He looked closer at the slip of paper, even his enhanced vampire eyeballs struggling to read the faded date. “1982, apparently.”

Buffy’s nose scrunched up but she didn’t make any other comment on that.

 _Gotta try harder here._ He kept digging around.

“So, you’ve got ten dollars,” she concluded, not five minutes later, “a hankie, stake, and switchblade; nine pens, a miniature sewing kit, harmonica, lint, random business cards, a loyalty card for the butcher–”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” Spike finished. “Satisfied?”

“Nope. Why have you got a business card for a wig-maker? Can you even sew? And who needs _nine_ pens? 

Before he could even begin to start tackling those questions, Buffy followed up with, “What’s that thing?”

Spike pulled his eyes away from her glossy lips to glance at what he now held in his hand. “What’s it look like?”

“A really small shiv?”

He laughed. “Like how you think, Summers, but no. It’s a lockpick.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh! Wait. Does that mean–”

“No, Slayer. Unless you find me a hole to wiggle it in, it ain't getting us out of here.”

She blushed and looked away. “Right, yeah.”

Bloody hell but she was adorable. If mild innuendo had her all het up, he could only imagine what she’d be like if he really got to work on her. Spike closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment to call back to mind his previous imaginings, then shook his head.

“Now, if I had a slim jim,” he continued, as if his jeans weren’t painfully tight, “it would be a different matter. Shame someone confiscated it.”

Buffy at first looked offended, then confused. “The snack?”

He stared at her, once more baffled at how someone so intelligent could also be so thick headed. “Seriously?” he prompted, when she continued to stare back, as if genuinely expecting a response. Could it be she was actively _trying_ to wind him up now?

She shook her head. “Don’t be mean. I’m still freaking out here.”

“I noticed,” he said, even though she barely seemed freaked at all, now. Dare he think it? But the bickering over tat and nonsense was almost… fun. For both of them.

Just as Spike readied himself to launch into an explanation of slim jims the tool as opposed to Slim Jims the foodstuff, Buffy’s stomach rumbled loudly, the sound echoing off the walls.

“God, why did you have to mention food?”

“I didn’t, you daft bint.”

“But you said–” She held up a hand again, then brought it to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Second thought? Let’s not get into it. It’ll only make me hungrier.”

Spike spared a thought for his own appetite but chose not to mention it. He pulled out a deck of cards and added it to the pile between them.

Buffy’s mouth hung open. “You had those this entire time?”

“No, they magically materialized just this minute.”

She glared and snapped her mouth shut. “So very funny. Why didn’t you say?”

He shrugged. “Hadn’t remembered them.”

“How long has it been sin–?” She cut herself off with a shake of her head. “Right, 1982. Nevermind.” Buffy crossed her legs under her and leaned forward. “Come on, deal them out.”

“No.”

She frowned. “Why not? You’re the one who wanted to play.”

“Not cards. Not with this deck, anyway.”

“You got another one in there?”

“No.”

She huffed out a breath. “Then what gives?”

“They’re marked, all right?”

Buffy paused for a long moment, as if trying to solve a difficult equation. “Huh,” she said at last.

“What?”

“I just….” She shook her head again. “Nevermind.”

Spike’s eyebrows went up. “You’re surprised I cheat?”

“No. I’m surprised you admitted to it.”

Well, damn, she had him there. Thing of it was that the cards _weren’t_ marked, but he’d set his mind to playing Truth or Consequences – or _Truth or Dare_ – now, and he wasn’t up for getting sidelined. Not that he could tell her that.

“Wouldn’t want you sussing the cheating on your own and deciding to stake me after all,” he said, fairly confident it was a solid enough lie.

Buffy paused again and leaned her back against the elevator wall. Almost gently she said, “I wouldn’t stake you over cards.”

“Much obliged,” he replied, infusing his own voice with a touch of snark to disguise his surprise at her seemingly sincere statement and how deeply the scrap of consideration touched him.

“So, Truth or Dare,” said Buffy then. “You wanna go first?”

Spike blinked for a moment, caught off guard, then felt his lips split into a wide grin. “Why, Slayer, I thought you’d never ask.”

“Shut up,” she countered, genially. “Just pick.”

“Ladies first.”

“Ha! Good one,” said Buffy. “Oh, wait. You’re serious. Umm…. I can’t think of anything.”

Bloody hell. She’d made the leap to playing, now needed to be led by the hand, it seemed. “Just pick,” Spike echoed. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth. No! Dare. Or– ugh!”

“First answers only,” said Spike.

“Since when is that a rule?”

“Since I don’t want to spend an eternity just waiting for you to take your sodding turn.”

Buffy crossed her arms. “Fine. Truth.”

 _Best start out easy._ “Got a favorite Beatle?”

“Oh!” She thought for a minute. “I guess rhino. You?”

It took him a second to figure out where the misunderstanding happened, then went to say ‘no, that’s not what I meant’ but only got as far as the ‘no’ part when Buffy hopped to her feet, suddenly animated.

“Okay, now dare.”

He decided not to point out her taking major liberties with the actual rules and instead requested a handstand, which she performed eagerly, probably just needing to move after all the sitting about. Spike dimly remembered thinking something along those lines about her not too long ago, but somehow his brain was struggling to recall exactly what and when. _I really need to get out of these bloody trousers. Good job I don’t have proper circulation to cut off._

Buffy righted herself, rubbing her hands on her jeans. After that, she sat down again, back in the cross-legged position and looked deep in Spike’s eyes like she had some terrible, impossible question lined up, but what she actually asked was, “Did you really come see me to get your ring back?”

He barked out a laugh, because that was easy. “No,” he said, regardless of the fact he hadn’t actually picked ‘truth’, or anything at all.

“Then what–?” began Buffy, but now he held up a hand.

“Ah ah ah, your turn again.”

She pouted. “No fair. I wasn’t asking something else, just, you know, elaborating on the first question, since you only said one word.” He looked at her silently, making it quite clear that wasn’t gonna fly, and she sighed. “Fine. Truth.”

Spike grinned. “Where were you on your way to?”

“Oh.” Another blush tinged her cheeks. “That was….” She shook her head. “Not important. Next.”

 _Don’t strangle her,_ he told himself. _You have no chance of kissing her if she’s dead._ “You know I’m only gonna ask you something worse if you keep on like this,” he warned. 

“Worse how?” Buffy challenged. 

“Worse like….” He paused to consider, realising now was the perfect time to call her on her previous lie. “Like how come you’ve still got my ring and won’t give it back?”

“Oh,” she said again, impulsively reaching for Spike’s first flask and taking a swig. _Cabin fever’s really got to the chit._

“Did I say truth? I, um, totally meant dare.”

“Fine,” said Spike. _There’s no way in hell I’m letting her away with this._ “Turn out _your_ pocket.” 

“My pocket?” 

“Yeah.” He grinned wickedly. “Women’s toggs might have a lack of storage space, but you’ve got a scrap of material there with a bulge in it and a distinct absence of guile. You think I didn’t notice you squirrel my ring away?” 

Buffy’s mouth dropped open. Finally, it seemed she’d run out of witty comebacks.


	4. Hour Three

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t know why she’d lied to Spike and hidden his ring, or why she didn’t want to examine too closely why she hadn’t wanted to take it off, and she absolutely wasn’t sure why she was now considering telling him the truth.

_I suppose it is the name of the game. I was probably gonna have to start playing it right at some point, anyway._

“So, why’d you keep it?” he pressed.

She swallowed before answering, pulling the ring out to look at it. “I… like it, I guess.”

“Now, now,” said Spike, “thought we were bein’ honest.”

Buffy looked up and met his gaze. “That is me being honest. I like it.” He smiled at her so beautifully that she was dazzled for a moment, but then her mouth just kept on moving of its own accord. “I mean, it’s way ugly and doesn’t go with any of my clothes, but–”

Spike’s smile devolved into a scowl and she snapped her jaw shut, not sure if she should be preparing herself to wrestle him to keep the ring. The ugly ring that she absolutely did not want to part with, for bizarre unknown reasons. Yeah.

“Like my jewelry, don’t you?” said Spike, his teeth clenched. “Gonna send this one to Angel, too?”

Okay, that definitely felt barbed. Not that she could blame Spike, given her own accidental dig, but it was a well-timed reminder that no matter how much fun they had, they weren’t friends. They wouldn’t even be hanging out if it wasn’t for the almighty Powers That Suck.

“So, that’s it?” Spike pressed. “You’re just going to start ignoring me now?”

“I’m not sure what there is to say,” said Buffy, really leaning into the honesty thing now, because what the hell?

“How about answering the question? Or, wait, here’s a better one: how do you feel knowing that Angel smashed your little gift?”

Buffy’s head snapped back so fast, she was worried she might get whiplash. She regarded Spike carefully before asking, “What are you talking about?”

He eyed her just as speculatively. “Oh, you hadn’t heard?”

She didn’t answer and he sighed, some of the tension going out of his tone again as he rubbed his neck. “You sent Angel the Gem of Amara. I followed it, fought him night and bloody day, he won, saw me off. Wore it for three whole minutes and then crushed it with some rock or other.”

“No,” said Buffy. “He– he wouldn’t.”

“You think I’m lying?”

She swallowed but couldn’t look away from Spike’s eyes. They were hard, now, all the teasing gone. He looked almost like he’d be hurt if she said yes. But when had that become a thing? Twenty minutes of Truth of Dare shouldn’t have turned them into best pals sharing all their secrets, but… his eyes. This meant something to him, even if she couldn’t figure out what or why.

“I know you’re a liar,” said Buffy, watching his jaw clench. “ _But_.” She looked back down at the ring in her hands. “About this, I believe you.”

Spike was silent for a long time. Or at least it felt like a long time. It was kind of hard to tell, being trapped and all. Not having access to natural light or… well, anything, screwed with your head. 

“He, um…. Angel. He really crushed it?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?” There was no accusation in the question. Buffy made sure of that. Plus, she’d already said she believed him.

“Watched,” said Spike. “Was a few rooftops over, hoping to get another chance to snatch it when I saw the blow. The glowing light just _pfft-d_ out of existence.”

“Asshole,” Buffy heard herself say, vaguely aware of Spike raising his eyebrows in the corner of her vision. “I mean, why? Why would he do that?”

Spike shrugged. “Suppose he figured it wasn’t safe.”

Buffy scoffed. Oh, yeah, she’d heard lots of Angel’s thoughts on what was _safe_ or not. The definition didn’t exactly match her own.

“To be fair to him,” Spike continued, “I’m not really one for giving up. Expect he didn’t want to be scrapping with me every other day ‘til the end of time. He’s got _priorities_.”

He said the word ‘priorities’ with a mock tone of self-importance and Buffy laughed. “It wouldn’t have been to the end of time. You’d have gotten it eventually.”

Spike leaned forward a little. “You think?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, you don’t give up, remember? And he’s not that impossible to beat.”

“Ha. Yeah. For you.”

Was that another compliment? Why did it feel less weird, now? “Anyway,” Buffy pressed on, “yeah, you’d have got it. I guess that was Angel’s problem. Why he had to destroy it.”

“Angel never _has_ to do anything,” said Spike, pulling Buffy up short.

“What does that mean?”

“It means–” he paused, stopping himself from whatever he was about to admit.

“Go on,” she prompted, intrigued despite herself.

Spike waved a hand. “That whole leaving you for your own good bollocks. You know it’s bollocks, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. I, uh….” She cleared her throat. “It certainly felt that way. At the time.”

“And now?” asked Spike, leaning forward a little again. Weirdly eager.

“Now?” said Buffy, pondering it. “I don’t know. He’s infuriating. He left, but he won’t stay gone. Won’t butt out. It….” Was she really gonna admit this out loud? To Spike, of all people? Buffy decided yes, she was. “How Angel’s been in the past few months? It’s made me not so much want him around.”

Spike leaned back, giving her a long look. “Is that so.” Somehow, it came out not sounding like a question, but she answered anyway.

“Yeah,” said Buffy. “I think it is.”

“Well.” Spike got up and stretched his back. “Turn up for the books, that is.”

“I guess it is.” She stood up, too. It just felt weird Spike being so above her, otherwise. “What, uh. I mean… what now?”

He shrugged. “We could spar?”

“Here? And with your chip?”

“Reckon it could work,” he said. “If I went easy. Didn’t try to hurt you.”

That… sounded actually kinda fun. But no. “We couldn’t spar here. I need room to move.”

“All right.” They turned around each other in a circle before Buffy flopped down again where Spike had been sitting. She pulled off her shoes, really regretting how much allowance she wasted on them.

Spike stilled in the opposite corner of the lift. He was staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He didn’t look away.

Buffy sighed, bored of the mixed signals. “Are we still playing?”

“Yeah.” Spike sat down where she’d been. “Go on, then.”

“Okay.” Buffy bit her lip. “Where were we?”

“You wanted to know why I came to see you.”

“I did,” agreed Buffy, remembering. “You finally ready to tell me?”

“Promise not to laugh?” he asked first.

That got her suspicion up again, but she agreed anyway, curiosity overpowering it.

Spike closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the elevator door, as if that somehow made whatever he was about to say easier. “Wanted to see you.”

Buffy waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Okay,” she said after a minute. “Am I allowed to ask why, or are you gonna tell me I have to do something else first?”

A smile pulled at his lips. “We both know you don’t do anything you don’t want, pet.”

“That’s not an answer.” Why was he being avoidy guy? How bad could it possibly be, whatever he didn’t want to say?

Spike opened his eyes and met her gaze, letting her know he was being serious again. “Mayhaps I like seein’ you.”

“Well, I…” She stammered. What did that mean? “You like seeing me? Enough to come to my dorm?”

“Yes.”

Whoa. Okay. Was he– Spike couldn’t be saying he liked her, could he? Buffy struggled around for a way to respond for a minute but came up with nothing.

“Not so unusual,” said Spike. “Two people in the workplace. Feelings develop.”

“We don’t work together.”

“Have before. Could again.”

“Spike, what–?”

“Think about it,” he said, his eyes lit up. “Patrolling together. You and me taking down demons. Double teaming. Making a game of it.”

“Slaying isn’t a game,” she snapped, annoyed to be reminded of Riley.

“No,” allowed Spike. “It’s your bread and butter. No doubt it’s a downright drudge, some nights. But we could make it fun.”

“Fun?” questioned Buffy, not able to help herself. She was finding it hard to fit everything Spike was saying into her head, but she was fascinated at the same time. Wanting to know more. Not able to stop thinking about it the same way you couldn’t stop looking at a car accident. Your brain just had this urge to try and figure out what happened, she supposed. Spike liked her. He _liked_ her? How did that even–

Somewhere in the back of Buffy’s brain, a memory was triggered. Not a very distant one, but one she’d tried to bury. Them kissing. Him holding her on his lap, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Except they weren’t nothing. He’d told her he wanted her. That he’d always wanted her. She assumed it had been the spell, but….

He was looking at her intently, and she realized she didn’t know how long she’d zoned out for, or what the last thing he’d said was. _I hope to God I didn’t say anything I was thinking out loud._

“Tell me,” she said now, suddenly wanting to hear it for herself. All of it.

“You really wanna know?”

Did she? There’d be no going back from it if he outright said he wanted to kiss her again. Or do something else. That thought solidified in her stomach. “Say it.”

Spike’s eyes flashed with a sudden heat. “I want you, Slayer. Buffy. Want to fight along side you. Be your right hand.” He looked down and laughed, the sound a little manic. “Left hand, I suppose it’d be. But that’s right fitting, init? You don’t need anyone.”

Buffy didn’t know what she was doing. Didn’t know what she was thinking. But something about what Spike said, or the way he said it – the way it contrasted with how Riley had been bugging her all day – pushed all her reason aside. She went forward into Spike’s space, pressing her lips to his.


	5. Hour Four

Spike had said it. Buffy had asked and he’d gone ahead and told her what he wanted. That he wanted her. And she’d reacted with her lips. He could barely believe it, but didn’t divert too much of his brain power to doubting it fully. Not when there were so much more pressing matters.

He kissed her back, slipping his tongue between her sweet, perfect lips, swallowing her gasp; one of his hands going up to caress her beautiful, bouncing locks, the other trailing down her arm, reaching for her hand so they could link fingers.

Just as the heady sensation began to settle in Spike’s mind and he started to think where else this joyous development might take them, Buffy’s head snapped back and she pulled her fingers out of reach.

They stared at each other, wide-eyed, for a moment, then she placed two hands on his chest, simultaneously pushing him away and using his body for leverage to get to her feet.

And then the pacing began again. 

“Buffy? Love, what it is?”

She shook her head and didn’t answer.

“Buffy?” He got to his feet as well.

“No,” she said.

“No? You’re not Buffy? It was someone else who kissed me just then? Came over a little possessed, did you?”

She stopped pacing and turned to look at him. He really didn’t like the look.

“Oh, no. You’re not gonna try and pull that one. You kissed me, Buffy. Don’t ruin it by opening that pretty little mouth and saying it wasn’t you.”

“I– it was–” She shook her head again. “Too fast. I wasn’t thinking. You did it all too fast.”

True, he’d been trying to deepen the kiss, but this was ridiculous. The kiss had been more of a surprise to him than to her, no matter how much he wanted it, and _she_ was the one who’d done it.

Spike held up his hands. “Can we go back a tick?”

“Absolutely not.”

His eyes narrowed. That’s how she wanted to play it, was it? “You’re really gonna be scandalized. Get your knickers in a twist about feelin’ something an’ then–”

“No,” she said again. “This wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t–” She stopped trembling long enough to resolutely stick out her chin. “You had no effect on my knickers.”

“That’s a laugh.”

“Why? Why’s it a laugh?”

“Are you serious? This whole bleedin’ thing’s warped. Can’t we just take a step back and–”

“No.”

“Buffy–”

“No!” She yelled it this time, and he stopped a moment.

Slayer really was well and truly spooked, but he didn’t get why. “Can’t we talk about this?” She opened her mouth but he headed her off at the pass. “Don’t say no again.”

Buffy closed her mouth.

Spike took a deep breath. “Right. You gonna tell me why you went completely carrot top?”

“N–” He glared and she cut herself off in a groan. “I can’t do this, Spike!”

“Why not?”

“Hello?” She gestured towards him. “Vampire!”

“You’ve dated one before.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, that went real well.”

“Well I’m not him, am I?”

“No.” Her hands went her hips, stance defiant. “You’re not.”

Spike matched her posture. “You’re certainly not trying to say I’m worse than that ponce.”

She looked away and rubbed a hand down her face, looking suddenly exhausted. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Bollocks!”

Buffy sighed. “Spike, please.”

“What?” He challenged. “Is it really so bad, that you might have a thing for me?”

“I don’t have a– I mean, you have a perfectly nice, um, _thing_ , but….” She bit her lip. “What am I saying?”

“Utter rot,” said Spike.

“Look.” She planted her hands more firmly on her hips. “You were right, okay? We should just take a step back and not get into the crazy talk. It– it’s like we’ve got cabin fever or something. The lack of oxygen is getting to us.”

“I’m not breathing, pet. As per your orders.”

“Yeah, well!” She threw up her hands. “It’s getting to me!”

“Clearly.”

Buffy groaned. “If I let you say your piece, can we please just drop it?”

“Fine.”

She made a vague, ‘go ahead’ gesture and suddenly, Spike found himself wordless again. It took him too long to back track the conversation to when it last made an ounce of sense.

“So,” he said then. “Vampires get you hot.”

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Buffy. “That’s the argument you wanna run with? Vampires get me hot? Vampires do _not_ get me hot!”

“That why you get worked up every time you’re fighting ‘em?”

Buffy raised a hand to halt the conversation but Spike slapped it away. “You can’t keep just shutting down chats you don’t want to have.”

“There are no chats. We’re not discussing this.”

“Discussing what?” he shot back and she glared at him, holding his gaze for a long minute, then exhaling slowly.

“One vampire got me hot, okay? One. But he’s gone.”

“You’re glad to see the back of him,” said Spike. “Told me that yourself. Just like you whispered all kinds of intimate little desires to me. Because we didn’t just plan a ceremony, did we? There were all the details of the wedding night, too. Think I’ve forgotten?”

Buffy blushed deeper than he’d ever seen before, her eyes finally skating away from his. “That was the spell.”

Spike scoffed. “Yeah? And what was that? Now? The kiss we just had – that you gave me. Was that the spell too, eh?” He was mad, his voice coming out louder than he meant, but he couldn’t let her brush this off. Not when he’d been so close.

“That was….” Buffy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then looked up again, her features schooled. “That was panic. And you– your stupid words. A-and alcohol! You got me drunk!”

Spike laughed, not able to help himself. “Give me a break, Slayer. If you got drunk off that single, pitiful gulp you took, you’ve got more problems than just this bloody stupid denial you’ve latched onto.”

“There is no denial.”

“Right. So admit it, vampires get you hot.”

She stomped her foot, the sound echoing. “Goddamn it, Spike! Didn’t we already do this part?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “But somehow we got back to lying, so let’s run it again.”

“You’re calling me a liar?”

He stood taller, leaning close to her face. “Yes.”

Buffy straightened her back but didn’t step away. “What gives you the–?”

Spike tapped his nose. “Can smell you when you slay. Get nice and wet, yeah.”

Her face scrunched up like a prune. “Eww!”

“Aha!” exclaimed Spike.

“Aha? What aha?”

“Proved my point.”

Buffy’s face slackened into confusion. “Me saying ‘eww’ proved your point? How nuts are you?”

“You got grossed out because you know it’s true.”

“It is not true!”

“Then why are you horrified, love, eh? Embarrassed that I know your secret? Shouldn’t be embarrassed if I haven’t got your number. But I do, and we both know it.”

Buffy threw up her hands. “You are completely ridiculous. And you abused logic.”

Spike went to volley that barb when she only went and bloody did it again. Buffy kissed him, but the sensuous exploration of lips had become the mashing of mouths, her breath heaving in her chest with pent up frustration. He went to put his hands on her arms to steady her, but then she was off again, jerking out of his reach to stand in the corner, her back flush with the elevator wall.

She stared at him for a long minute and he resisted the urge to say anything, lest they get tangled up in words again. When the minute was up, she slid down to a sitting position, pulling her knees to her chest. And there she stayed, silent, for he didn’t know how long.

Spike honestly didn’t have a clue what the bloody fuck had gotten into her. She was up, she was down, round and round the bloody bend, pulling him with her. Not that he minded bein’ with her, but if she was gonna deny it all happened at the end of it, he just… he stared, not sure what to make of any of it.

The silence stretched, Buffy at some point closing her eyes. Spike was starting to wonder if she really had been possessed, and was now sleeping it off, but after an eternity of silence she said, “Okay, truth?”

Spike shook his head. “Thought we were through playing.”

Buffy opened her eyes. Kept her voice calm. “This isn’t playing.”

He looked at her again, curious despite himself. “What, then?”

She gave a small shrug. “The truth is I freaked a little.”

Spike barked a laugh. “No shit, Slayer.”

“This isn’t me as the Slayer. This is me. Buffy-me. Terrified human me. I… I’m sorry.”

“Come again?” The chit had more mood swings than bloody Drusilla.

She clenched her fists. “I don’t know, okay? This has been a really long, really hard day, and I’m allowed to be freaked!”

He waited until her heart rate lowered again before daring to speak. “Why don’t you talk me through what’s going on in your head?” he asked then. “Take it slow. God knows how much time we still have to spare.”

She went to answer but, “Just,” he added quickly, “…just don’t give me lies and nonsense, yeah?”

Buffy nodded slowly, shifting slightly so she could hug her knees tighter to her chest. “So, I had been starting to think about dating this guy,” she began.

Spike’s eyebrows went up. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t this, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Riley,” said Buffy. “You met him.”

“Solider bloke.” Spike grit his teeth. “Right.”

“Right,” affirmed Buffy. “The solider thing took me off guard, too. I, uh, may have freaked a little on him. Tried to call the whole thing off before it got really started.”

Spike blinked, surprised again but not sure what else to feel. Offended that she’d done this back and forth with someone else? And recently, at that? Relieved that she was finally talking about it? There was all that, but wariness too. Never fun to find out you’re not the only one in the picture.

“So he spends all day trying to convince me not to bail,” continued Buffy, making Spike’s irritation spark all the more. He’d known she was messed up after sodding Angel, but this took the biscuit. Just how many men had she strung along only to drop the second things got interesting?

“That’s where I was going,” said Buffy. “Tonight. When I stepped in here. That’s where I was headed. To talk to him.”

Spike used all his strength to make sure his tone was neutral as he asked, “What were you gonna say?”

“Well.” Buffy looked at her feet. “I hadn’t actually got that part figured out yet.”

He rolled his eyes, not able to stop it. Suddenly, he didn’t want her telling him anything else. Spike was all but ready to explode at her for leading people on when she blurted out, “I don’t want him.”

Spike paused. Forced himself to calm; to not give up listening. _Maybe if I shut up, it’ll all finally make some fucking sense. She’s at least stopped ranting like a nut case._

“The, uh….” She cleared her throat. “The real truth is, I thought I should want him. That he might be good for me. I was willing to try. And I would have, except….”

“Except?” prompted Spike, his breath well and truly bated.

“Well, the whole solider thing,” said Buffy. “It’s one thing to give a nice, perfectly innocent person a shot to see if you could come to like them, but to stack all this other complicated stuff on top right at the start? It….” She frowned. “I guess it didn’t seem worth it. Not when–”

“Not when you didn’t really want the bloke to begin with,” Spike finished for her.

“Yeah,” said Buffy, her voice sounding far off. She was still looking at her feet.

“And me?” Spike dared to ask.

The tops of her cheeks tinged red. “I did actually want you.”

“Buffy,” he said, his voice coming out in a harsh whisper. “Buffy, look at me.”

She visibly steeled herself then shyly looked up to meet his gaze.

“Can we forget about all that bollocks before?”

“I guess.” She was still being shy and fuck if it didn’t make him love her more. Yes, she’d put him through the wringer, but she’d done the test run first. No wonder all her thoughts were scattered.

Terrified it might set her off again but not able to help himself, Spike bravely sat down beside her, his knees touching hers.

“Can I kiss you, Buffy?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She bit her lip again, as if considering it.

“I want you,” he reminded her, because that seemed to do the trick the first time. “You want me.”

Buffy nodded and released her bottom lip from the clamp of her teeth.

Spike grinned. “You want me to go first this time?”

She nodded again, all of her words having clearly abandoned her.

“Go on, then,” said Spike. “Dare me.”


	6. Hour Five

It was the damnedest thing. All at once Buffy was exhausted from the mental somersaults her brain had been doing _and_ totally keyed up from kissing Spike.

She was kissing Spike! Again!

Buffy actually let herself enjoy it this time; didn’t tell herself it wasn’t real. It was so very totally real, the way his body pressed into hers, making her clothes feel weirdly tight.

After wanting nothing more than to escape all night, she was suddenly finding the benefits of being trapped with him as her only companion. Every instinct had yelled at her to run, but she hadn’t been able, and so she’d been forced to face the truth.

The truth that she wanted Spike. And the even more shocking realization that she could have him. Outside of the elevator, she hadn’t the first clue as to how it might work, but she was learning to lean more into the here and now, because her freakouts didn’t seem to be doing either of them any favors.

And, honestly, acceptance was just so much more fun.

It was crazy that a dead guy could make Buffy feel so alive. And it wasn’t that vampires got her hot, no matter what Spike said – or how many times he said it. Buffy had a hard time putting into words, even in her own brain, what slaying was like for her. Yes, it got her worked up, but it wasn’t about who she was fighting. Not usually, anyway. Outside of Spike, it was more about embracing her own strength. Her own body.

She wasn’t sure if that sounded silly, or would make sense to anyone else other than Faith, but it was what it was. She’d show Spike. They ever got outside again, Buffy had detailed plans to teach him the exact difference between being generally turned on by the fight and being into fighting him, specifically.

Not that he was one to talk. If anyone had a slayer fetish, it was undoubtedly him. She couldn’t count how many times they’d had fists flying when, suddenly, he stepped too close, or she didn’t step back in time, and she’d feel just how hard his… fetish was.

Buffy had never acknowledged it, outside of that day they’d spent engaged. But now she really hoped he was right about them still being able to spar. The thought sent a thrill up her spine, and her brain reacted with a flare of guilt. Telling her it was naughty. Telling her it was wrong. Kinda still telling her to run. But none of that mattered because somehow, somewhere along the line of stupid bickering they’d had back and forth, a part of Buffy had found that piece of acceptance she needed.

She could accept she wanted Spike. She could accept he wanted her. Everything else just… she couldn’t say it didn’t matter, because it did, but she supposed it maybe didn’t matter as much? Now they’d kissed, she knew deep down that it would keep happening. So why fight the inevitable – especially when the inevitable was so fun?

They were kinda sparring now, with all the tongue and lip action, the straining of limbs against each other. It was like… like some kind of dance, only really athletic instead of slow and graceful.

It was hot as all hell.

Buffy pulled away and watched Spike’s pupils go from big to needle points in response. He was staring at her, all of his muscles visibly coiling tight.

“Breathing break,” she told him between pants. “Dizzy.”

His shoulders relaxed and lips turned up in a smug little smile. “Me too.”

She rolled her eyes but grinned back at him. “I thought you weren’t breathing.”

“Don’t rightly know my own name, just this second,” he said, making her grin even more. She could tell he wasn’t faking being as overwhelmed as she was, and it was a rush of a feeling. Refreshing, was what it was. Suddenly, it was like she had been given water, and she hadn’t known she was thirsty until she’d tasted it.

Buffy had _thought_ she’d had water before, but whatever she'd had before wasn’t this. Because she'd thought she and Angel had been equals, caring about each other the same amount, but he’d walked away and he’d been fine. He’d been able to walk away. He’d wanted to, and he had. So maybe he hadn’t been as invested as Buffy had.

Sure, Parker had been way into her, but only for that one night. And then there was Riley, who was the opposite. He seemed really interested, and she’d been trying to force it. All three of the dynamics were off balance, and Buffy hadn’t been able to see it until here, now, with Spike in front of her. She’d been wandering the desert, getting confused by all the big dunes that looked the same, but weren’t, and he was this oasis and wow, yeah, she suddenly wanted to drink as much of him as she could fit inside herself.

He was eyeing her warily again. “Look like you’ve got a lot goin’ on in that noggin of yours. You gonna freak out on me again?”

“Nope,” she said with a pop, and launched herself back into his arms.

They fell in a tangle to the elevator floor, where space swam and time swallowed them up. Buffy didn’t know how long they’d been trapped, or how long the kissing marathon lasted, but eventually she needed a time out to catch her breath again.

This time, Spike didn’t look half as uneasy. It seemed he was starting to accept that, yeah, freakouts were over and this was just something they were doing now.

As she took in the angular lines of him, Buffy’s mind again wandered to how they might be once they were free from confinement. She asked Spike, curious to know his thoughts, as she waited for her lips to stop tingling.

“Already said I wanna fight alongside you,” he said.

“Okay,” she replied slowly, not sure that exactly answered the question. “So, we’ll, what? Patrol together?”

“Sure,” said Spike. “We’ll work hard, we’ll play hard.” He wagged his eyebrows and she laughed.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how he thought they’d manage telling her friends, but then she figured that was probably her problem and her call. Spike wasn’t gonna care if Xander had a problem with them. Or Willow, or anyone, so long as they didn’t come after him with stakes.

Buffy made a mental note to ensure that didn’t happen. She supposed she’d need to talk to Giles first. And with the first step settled in her mind, she cast the topic off again. Being so close to Spike and not kissing him had to be, like, a crime or something. She’d held herself back for so long, but no more.

She leaned forward and caught his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging it gently until he moaned into her mouth. His hands reached for her arms, her legs, her hair, and her waist. Then they were lost again. So beautifully, wonderfully lost in each other and the moment that Buffy didn’t want it to end.

It was a dangerous, dangerous thought, but she started to wonder again what might happen if she really was stuck here forever, never ever to get out. Her brain started to run scenarios, but they were very different from the ones she’d initially had when the lights had first flashed. Some deep, primal part of Buffy was whispering that, if this was going to be her last day or days alive, she might as well go ahead and fall the rest of the way, right?

As much as Spike and Buffy were giving in to each other and letting go, instinct taking them, she was also very aware they were holding back that last little bit that was stopping them ripping each other’s clothes off.

They both clearly wanted it, but it was way too fast. Too much. Except, her errant brain reminded her, in the situation in which it was all she was gonna get. But she couldn’t think like that. It was ridiculous to think they’d really be stuck forever.

But, well, it had been forever already, hadn’t it? And they hadn’t heard a thing.

Yes, sooner or later someone had to find them, but what if it wasn’t before Buffy starved to death? Didn’t she deserve to spend the last of her energy being fully satisfied? Now that she finally had what she wanted – her oasis that showed up the previous watering holes she’d visited for the mirages they’d truly been?

She was almost convinced – _almost_ – when….

The lights flickered, making Buffy blink. She pulled away from Spike one last time as the flickering stopped and the overhead light switched back to the full brightness of before the aftershock. When her eyes had adjusted, she looked at him intently, hoping it didn’t mean the spell had broken. The… whatever it was that was between them now.

“Pet?” he questioned, soft now, unsure; not brimming with the terrified frustration of before.

She smiled, leaning forward for one more kiss as the rumble of elevator started and it finally began to move. He sighed, relieved, against her lips, and they stood up, standing so close to each other they might as well have been one person.

Like magic, the doors opened and Buffy and Spike stepped out, their hands reaching out for each other at the same time. Buffy laughed at the synchronicity. At the nervous butterflies in her stomach that came with a new relationship.

Butterflies that she’d never felt for Riley.

“Should we go back up?” asked Spike, his eyes heavy with suggestion. “Could take the stairs.”

“No,” she decided, wanting to get one last thing settled once and for all before she could fully give herself to this. The universe seemed to have spoken, telling her it was the right thing, if the elevator suddenly starting up again was anything to go by. “There’s, um, still something I have to do.”

Spike made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “After you.”


	7. Epilogue

Waiting could be a strange thing, with so much of how well it passed depending on context. The five hours Spike had spent trapped with Buffy didn’t feel half as long to him, for example. He’d have gladly spent a week or more there like that, if it hadn’t been detrimental to her human needs. Whereas now, the otherwise pleasant experience of standing free in the cool of the night instead of drinking in stale air again and again could not be appreciated to its fullest.

Because Buffy wasn’t with him anymore.

Spike had only been outside for ten minutes, but it might as well have been a month. A decade. Any time without Buffy was too much, and he’d never been known for his patience.

He had followed her as she made her way across campus, her hand firmly in his. Having both reached for each other, he hadn’t been exactly sure who ended up holding whom. But the best part was, it didn’t seem to bloody matter. He was head over heels and she was right there with him.

All right, so he hadn’t gone as far as giving her the full confession, complete with the three little words, and she still had some catching up to do, having only finally admitted her feelings to herself so recently, but… Well, fuck. She had feelings. For him!

Spike had tried not to do a little jig. “Going on patrol, are we?” he’d asked, excited by the prospect.

“Not yet,” Buffy had said, smiling up at him. “But maybe in a bit, if you want?”

He’d looked at her heatedly, not quite sure on how much she was wanting to be pushed or what might land him with a slap in the head. “Want plenty of things.”

She’d blushed and hadn’t said anything, just kept walking.

He kept on following her lead, until they arrived outside a house that stank of testosterone. Buffy dropped Spike’s hand and turned to him.

“I won’t be long,” she’d said. “I just want to shut this down once and for all.”

He had wanted to protest. To tell Buffy that no, it didn’t matter; that she should stay with him and forget about Soldier Boy. But he could tell it mattered to her. And it wasn’t like she _wanted_ to spend time with Riley. She was trying to bin the sod right off.

Spike had let her go. Though ‘let’ was overstating it. Buffy did what she liked, and Spike liked that about her. If she felt it was right, she’d have done it anyway. She didn’t need his permission or blessing. Even so…

“You’ll be okay?” she’d asked. “Out here?”

He’d said yes. He’d let her go with that blessing she didn’t need, but had requested anyway. And now here he stood, bored and itching for a fag. Itching for _her_.

Spike considered going in after her but held himself back. Didn’t want to smother the girl. Didn’t want to ruin what was new and tentative.

But gods he was bored! Not to mention horny. And starting to doubt if any of what happened was actually real. Buffy’s scent in his nose and taste on his tongue was real enough, but the thought that she could have been in his arms... It barely seemed possible.

Now that she was away from him, might she reconsider? Come to her senses? Spike would like to think that Riley stood no chance of turning her head again, but the mere fact that she’d considered dating the tosser in the first place was testament to the fact that he had some mite of appeal.

Between fond memories of the past five hours, fantasies for even fonder happenings in the future, and doubts that this would be the end of the road for both, Spike had himself more tortured than when he’d been on his way to Buffy’s room in the first bloody place.

Just as he had himself half-convinced he was deluding himself and it could never truly be, she came traipsing out of the house and back into his arms.

“Ready to go?”

Spike beamed at her. His slayer. Oh, yes, he’d follow her anywhere. “Where to?”

“You said something about a patrol,” she reminded him, but her tone suggested she had a lot more than slaying vampires on her mind.

He felt his smile uptick into a grin. “Yeah, pet. I’m ready.”

“Good,” she chirped. “We can get Slim Jims on the way!”


End file.
